


The Hungry Ghosts

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Affection, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Healing, Kissing, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Scars, Sex, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janine finds Simon’s scars and a little of the past behind them. Sex (totally consensual and nice). Minor spoilers for Simon’s backstory/childhood, mentions of child abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hungry Ghosts

The bed dips and then springs back into place, and Janine stirs with the movement. She blinks from sleep to wakefulness in a moment, reaching automatically for the crowbar that she keeps beside the bed, next to a dog-eared copy of Sun Tzu's Art of War. Her fingers wrap around the metal, worn smooth with long use.

“It's just me, Jenny,” Simon's voice reaches her, a pleasing rasp to it after their activities last night.

“Jenny?” she asks, an amused note entering her voice at the nickname.

“I like the sound of it,” Simon replies. He leans over to kiss her gently. Janine slides her arms around his neck, holding him still until it turns into something much more thorough than a peck on the cheek.

“I suppose that it's acceptable,” she says, stroking her fingers down his cheek, the patches of stubble, his lips. He has very soft lips she's found, as well as a warm mouth and a very talented tongue. “As long as it isn't in public.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Simon says, and she can feel him grin against her mouth. “Got to keep the troops properly respectful, aye?”

“Apparently something that you have yet to learn,” she replies, and laughs when Simon kisses his way down along her neck.

“Never was much good that way,” he says, and his laugh is boyish and easy. Very appealing. “You gonna show me?”

Janine curls her fingers into his hair and pulls his head back, forcing him to look at her, for what little can be seen in the darkness anyway. “Perhaps if you ask me very nicely.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” His words are breathless and warm.

They kiss again, and Simon crawls back onto the bed to curl against her. He slides a strong leg between hers, hard planes of muscle pressing up against her. She likes the feeling of that strength. It's something that they need these days.

“I should go,” he murmurs. His lips are so close to hers, close enough to nip at until they're swollen. “Promised to keep it quiet between us, yeah.”

Janine sighs, and for a moment, hates her own rules enough to wrap a hand around his wrist and keep him from moving. “We've got hours yet, Simon.”

“It'll be day before you know it,” Simon replies. “Got to get myself limber before I run, too.” He slides away again, and Janine can dimly see him searching for his clothes in the darkness. They hadn't really been concerned about neatness in the haste of the previous night.

There's a bang and the sound of Simon's muffled swearing. Janine stretches over to switch on the solar lamp at the bedside. It's never going to be as good as an electric light, but it works well enough for her purposes.

“Thanks,” Simon says. He flashes her a grin over his shoulder, and then stoops to pull on his underwear. Before he does though, Janine stops him. She grabs one of his hands and stays his movements. 

“What is that Simon?” she asks, stroking her fingers over a pale line of skin just above the curve of his buttocks.

“It's nothing,” Simon says quickly. He has gone very still.

“It looks like a scar,” Janine says, her eyes narrowing. She's seen enough to know what they look like, and now that she looks more closely, there's more than one of them littering the backs of Simon's legs and his arse, even a few on his back.

Simon flinches away, pulling his underwear up. “Leave it, Jenny,” he says, his voice harsh. “There's nothing anyone can do about it now.” He turns back to her, giving a boyish smile that frays around the edges and doesn't reach his eyes. “”Not like I'm the only one here with a few scars.”

Teasingly he leans in and draws a finger over Janine's ribs and the old an ugly scar there. A knife wound from her time in the military. Just one of many that she has accrued during her life.

“Those don't come from a fight, Simon,” Janine points out. They're too regular, far too organised for that. “You were whipped, or something similar.”

Simon pulls back like he's been burnt, and for a second he looks so terribly lost, like a scared child. It hurts to see it, no matter what anyone else may say about her heart being stone. “It- it was a long time ago, Jenny. I'd- heh- I'd sort of forgotten that they were there.” He gives a strained and hollow laugh. “Do I even want to know how you're familiar with what whip marks look like?”

He tries to mask it with charm and flirtation, but he's not a good enough actor to hide the lines of worry around his eyes. 

“There's a lot that you do not know about me,” Janine replies, and the look that she gives him makes his breath stutter and catch, even if he still looks as though he's about to bolt. “Come back to bed, Simon,” she says. It's not quite so benign as a request. She gives him space, shifts to the other side of the bed. He hesitates. She can see the uncertainty in his face, an unfamiliar expression, before he climbs back in slowly. He pulls the covers firmly up around himself, self-conscious in a way that she would never have expected from him.

“Ready for another round then, Jenny?” His voice is all teasing, but the uncomfortable way that he's lying there tells a different story.

“You aren't,” she says bluntly.

He rolls over, pressing himself flush against her and sliding his leg between her thighs, pressing it up to give just a hint of friction and heat. “You know me. I'm always up for it.”

Janine just looks at hi, and after a second he huffs and moves away from her again. “I don't understand you, Janine.”

“I'm sorry,” she says, and sounds utterly unrepentant, “is this where I'm supposed to giggle and bat my eyelashes and brush it all underneath the rug?”

“Uh-” He looks rather confused by the idea, and then he laughs and rakes a hand through his messy hair. “I think if you started doing that I'd be calling Doc Myers honestly.”

“Quite.” She meets his eyes. “You don't have to tell me, Simon, but I do need to know a few things.”

He squirms a little and gives her a wary look. “Alright. What?”

“Do they affect your running in any way? I don't want to find out for the first time when you sieze up in front of a horde of the undead.”

“No. Never. Trust me, the amount I work out, I'd've known by now. I like to keep limber.” He smirks at her, and Janine smiles despite herself. She's certainly seen the results of his yoga.

“Yes, I had noticed. Now, the person who caused them-” he goes still again, “are they here? Are they likely to come here?”

Simon is silent. His tongue flicks nervously out over his lips. “No,” he says finally. “Dead and gone. Years ago now.”

“Good,” Janine says and even she is surprised by the vehemence with which she says it. Simon looks downright shocked. “That is all that I needed to know.”

She doesn't have to like what had happened to him, but they have little enough privacy as it is. It must help somehow, because Simon relaxes and slides an arm around her. He's still quiet, and his affection feels more like clinging than seduction, but it's better than having him taut and brittle.

“You-” he begins, pauses, then continues, “you know I was raised Catholic, right?”

“I didn't,” Janine replies, her voice carefully neutral. He's never spoken much about his past, said less still about his childhood. She has never felt the need to pry. She expects the same courtesy in return.

“Yeah, my- my nan brought me up.” There's a peculiar twist to his voice when he says it. She's never heard him sound so small. “She was petty strict. Pretty obsessed with thinking about the end of days. Guess that was why I wasn't surprised when-” He laughs, and it's anything but happy. No matter how much he tries to make it sound that way.

“I hardly believe that zombies are what any major religion was thinking,” Janine says, and she scrapes her fingers through his messy hair. Simon stretches out next to her and leans into the touch.

“Probably not,” he agrees. “But between her and school... must've got caned a fair few times. Bit of a monster as a kid I guess.”

“They left scars, Simon,” Janine says, a sour note to her voice. “How bad a child could you possible be?” To leave marks that last even now, the cuts must have been very deep. She's surprised that there hasn't been more permanent damage from it.

“Bad enough to deserve what I got,” Simon says.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Just leave it Janine,” Simon says sharply, and he starts to pull away again. “It's over. She's dead and buried. They all are, that or they're monsters themselves now.”

Janine catches his arm and squeezes it gently until he turns to look at her. “Just because someone is dead, does not mean that they're gone,” she says, a flicker of old hurt showing on her face, “and I don't mean the zombies.”

He smiles, a hurt and brittle expression. “Never took you for the religious sort.”

“I'm not. Ghosts can haunt us without being taken literally.” She sighs, her fingers stroking down the length of his arm. “No more questions, but if you ever do wish to speak about it, know that I will listen.”

Simon brushes a few sweaty strands of hair out of her face. His hands are warm and calloused and strong. She knows how strong they are, had the pleasant ache of bruises to remind her of that. 

“You're one of a kind Jenny.” He sounds breathless, and so painfully grateful. She cups her face between her hands, her thumbs stroking against the hard lines of his cheekbones. There's a wry smile on her lips when she pulls him down to kiss her, and it remains there even when they part.

“Roll over for me Simon.” It isn't strictly an order, but he's heard that tone enough times before to obey. He lies back down, stretched out beside her on his stomach, lovely muscles tense as he waits for her. The scars seem more visible like this; sharp, ragged white lines across his thighs and buttocks and up along his back. Clumsy blows, uncaring and left untreated.

Simon flinches when she touches him, grazing her fingers up along his calves, just hard enough to avoid being ticklish. She digs hers thumbs in, easing away some of that tension that leaves his legs knotted and hard. Slowly he begins to relax. He makes a soft noise and buries his face against the pillow, his toes curling as he stretches beneath her. It's then that she leans down and presses her lips to the lowest of the marks, a narrow scar just above his knee, mostly faded by now. He jerks beneath her, starting to push himself up onto his elbows. Janine presses him firmly back down onto the bed. 

“It's alright Si,” she says quietly, the words murmured against his skin. She feels his shiver, hopefully of pleasure, when she uses that nickname. Two can play his game. “Relax for me.” He glances over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide and dark and uncertain. He takes a breath and then nods and turns back, leaving her to examine each mark.

She works her way slowly up his leg, moving softly as she grazes her lips over every bone white mark, memorising each dip and plane of muscle laid out beneath her. A puff of laughter escapes him when she reaches the curve of his arse and she bites down gently just to hear what sort of noise he makes; it's sweet and soft, somewhere between a laugh and a groan trailing off into something deeper when she licks a line from the groove of his ass up along his spine. The scars are worst here on the soft flesh of his buttocks and she nips and teases at them, scraping her teeth against the edges until Simon is squirming beneath her.

“Can't get comfortable?” she asks, smiling against his skin at the taunt.

“I- I never took you for a tease Jenny.”

“I told you, there's a lot that you don't know about me Simon.”

“Maybe you could show me sometime?” He sounds breathless at the prospect and Janine pauses for a moment before adding another bite, this one hard enough to bruise, to leave behind a more pleasing mark over the old, unpleasant reminders.

“I'm sure that we could work something out,” she agrees. She places one last kiss against the base of his spine and then taps his hip. “Roll over, Simon. Let me see you.”

He obeys and yes, that could be quite pleasing if he is as amenable as he seems and not just bravado and bluster. She slides her hands up along his thighs slowly, his cock twitching and hard. Ah, the things that she could do. 

“Hold onto the headboard, Simon,” she says, curious as to how far she can push him now. 

He gives her a quizzical look, but does as she bids, wrapping his hands around the iron frame. It leaves him spread out beneath her, not vulnerable but giving the illusion of it and every line of his body signals his willingness. Janine smiles at him and crawls along the bed until she can lean down and kiss him gently. 

“You've been very good for me Simon,” she says, and sees the surprise and strange pleasure flare in his eyes at the praise. “I'm very pleased.” He leans into the kiss, chasing her lips even when she parts from him and turns his face against her hand when she touches his cheek and strokes his messy hair away from his face. 

His hands remain tight around the metal bars of the headboard even as she moves down his body, stroking and kissing, never breaking contact. He closes his eyes. He looks peaceful. 

Then she kisses the tip of his cock and the peace is shattered by a low cry of surprise and pleasure, by the jerking of his body beneath hers.

“Christ Jenny!”

Janine laughs, squeezes his thigh and flicks her tongue out against the tip, tasting heat and musk and sweat. He jerks up again, seeking the heat of her mouth, but she pulls away when he tries, and forces his hips back down with surprising strength. “Careful, Simon,” she says, her voice teasing, “you don't want me to stop do you?”

He shakes his head, tongue flicking out to dampen his lips. “No.”

“Didn't think so.” 

She holds him down anyway, leaning her weight against him. It wouldn't be enough if he really wanted to escape, but he seems to get the hint and lies there as still as he can. She runs her tongue along his length, dragging out the moan that it gets from him, and then curls her lips around the head, giving a light suck. His hips buck against her in an aborted movement. When she glances up she can see his knuckles turning white where he grips the headboard. 

She smooths a hand down over the sharp angles of his hip to cup his balls, stroking and squeezing them carefully as she sucks on him. She can feel the way that he trembles, the movements that he fights to stop. It doesn't give him much control over his mouth, not that that's anything new, and he groans and whines as she teases him. His head drops back and she glances up to see the smooth line of his throat, the way it bobs every time he swallows. 

She sucks harder, filling her mouth with him, tongue working him root to tip, never giving him a moment to pause or think or breathe. She wraps her hand around the base of his cock, starting to stroke him where her mouth can't reach. His eyes are still tightly shut, lips parted as though in prayer. 

She feels his body tighten, become taut and pulls her mouth away, replacing it with a quick twist of her hand along his cock, the press of her thumb against the slit until he comes with a harsh cry, a sharp release of tension. He slumps back on the bed. He's still holding onto the headboard.

Janine almost laughs at that, relief and pleasure bubbling inside her. She moves back up, cupping his cheek with her hand to turn his head so that she can kiss him. Simon makes a soft noise of sleepy pleasure and she reaches up to unclasp his hands, easing his fingers slowly open. 

“You did well,” Janine says. Simon looks at her with dark eyes, his expression still hazed with pleasure. “How do you feel?”

Simon shrugs one shoulder, and it turns into a roll to unclench stiff muscles. “God, do you need to ask Jenny?”

“I like to make sure we're both on the same page, but I'll take that as a success.”

Simon laughs and drops his head back against the pillow. “I feel good.”

“Convinced that I'm not appalled by those scars yet?” Or by what they represent.

He stills and then turns to bury his face into the crook of her shoulder. “Yeah. I think I got the hint.”

Janine curls her fingers into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “Good.” She swallows, her next words caught on her lips uncertainly. “They were wrong Simon,” she says finally, her voice firm, “whoever did that to you, whatever they said, they were wrong.”

He shudders against her side, his breath warm against her shoulder. She can feel the flicker of his eyelashes. “It's over, Jenny. In the past. I just want to forget it.”

Janine kisses the top of his head and curls down onto the bed next to him. She wishes that she could say that it was the sort of thing that you forget.


End file.
